The Edge of Dawn
by Waffle Maker Studios
Summary: Sonia Paynell has been pressured all her life to enter the Hunger Games by her parents, both previous victors. When she does, she finds herself torn between what she knows to be right, and what she must do to survive.


**Salutations**

 **I am unsure of how often I will be able to update this fic. I'm not very concerned about it. But it's pretty good so I thought I would upload it.**

 **Anyways, carry on.**

Chapter One

I take a deep breath, letting the smell of sap and crisp morning air fill my nose. The woods make me feel alive, in a way the main city never can, despite its constant motion. It is only where the world is still that I can find peace.

The delicate silver watch on my wrist trembles, alerting me that my time here is over. I sigh in frustration, and begin the trek back to the fence around District 3.

It took a bit of work, but with time and some stolen tools, I managed to cut through the fence. The entry-or rather, exit-point is concealed with a small hut I built. The back wall is removable, but unless someone knew it was there, they would never be able to find it.

Careful not to touch the chain links humming with electricity, I pop the wall out, catching it before it falls, and deftly tap it into place. As far as everyone else is concerned, I never left the shack at all, and have been their for the last half an hour.

The dirt crunches underneath my shoes, sturdy plastic-and-mesh running shoes. The kind of thing that is ridiculously expensive in the Districts. However, my parents, both being victors, can afford it.

My house is still quiet, as it usually is in the mornings, so I'm mildly surprised when I open the door and hear my mother remark "And here's Sonia."

I take my time unlacing my shoes, and ceremoniously place them on the shoe shelf. The same amount of thoughtful slowness is put into taking off my jacket, and hanging it up. Because today is the day of the reaping, and I am sure to get grilled by my mother once again.

My irritation lessens somewhat when I see Cennin Baard, my boyfriend, sitting at the table, enjoying breakfast. He flashes me an easy smile, and gestures to the plate of still-steaming potatoes beside him.

"I'm surprised that there's any left with you around," I say, punching him playfully on the arm.

My younger brother, Everton, shoots us both a disgusted look. "Mom, Sonia, and Cennin are flirting."

Rollins her eyes, my mother replies "And that's no business of yours. You've been finished with your breakfast for the last ten minutes, now go upstairs and get ready. The reaping is in an hour."

"Oh!" Cennin wipes his mouth on his sleeve, completely ignoring the linen napkin on the table. "I'd better go."

:Alright, see you in a little while," My mother says without looking up from cleaning the kitchen.

I give Cennin a quick kiss as he stands up. We exchange good-byes, and he heads out. Everton, who has lingered on the stairs, smirks. "Ooh, Sonia and Cennin are in _love_." He singongs.

Shoveling the last of the potatoes in my moth, I go to put my plate in the sink. With my mouth still full, I say "Yes we are. And I love him more than you at any rate."

My mother is standing for no bickering this morning. "Upstairs, now," She orders. When she gets irritated, the tribute who won the Hunger Games shines through, and now is one of those times. Everton and I race up the stairs, not wanting to be the child unlucky enough to incur her wrath.

As we mount the stairs, we pass our father as he comes down. Despite it being twenty-two years since Carick Paynell won the forty-seventh Hunger Games, the muscle that got him into the Career pack still is visible underneath his shirt. He makes Everton and I stop and give him a hug, and I try not to think about how easily he could strangle me like the other tributes in the arena.

I'm not sure why my mind is in a dark place this morning. Perhaps it's the atmosphere of the drawing today.

My dress for the reaping is simple, burgundy with a cream sash at the waist. The way that the skirt hangs is rather girly, and I don't like it. However, my mother picked it out for me, so I don't have much of a choice.

Speaking of, she knocks on my door and asks if she can do my hair. I know what the interaction will entail-pressuring me to volunteer-but I agree. And as she is brushing out my hair, my mother launches directly into her proposal.

"You're definitely strong enough. If you would use the same tactic as that Mason girl last year-"

"I don't think that will work again, not this soon," I interject. She shoots me a glance in the mirror.

"You know that I want you to compete. You would win, I know it."

Sighing, I spread my hands out helplessly. "But I could die, Mom. Imagine losing me."

"Well with that attitude, you will."

It's hopeless. To appease my mother, I tell her I'll think about it. Which I actually will. However, I don't have much tie to make my decision.

After my mother deems my appearance acceptable, she flashes me a hopeful smile and leaves. Exhaling very slowly, I examine my reflection. My mother has pulled back part of my hair, leaving most of it to curl down around my neck and shoulders. I look older, more sophisticated.

I see what my mother sees in me.

A victor.

I take one more deep breath, and go downstairs to meet my family.

The town square is a fair distance away from our house in the Victor's Village, but it is nice walking with my family. My father has his hand on my neck, and is gently massaging it while he and my mother talk. Everton complains about his shirt.

I can't help but smile. It feels so normal, which is something that we distinctly lack in my home. The grin fades as we walk into town.

District 3 isn't as oppressed as some of the others, but it doesn't get extravagance from the Capitol like 1 and 2. The sooty pollution from the factories coats the roofs of the houses, and leaves a fog in th air. The rest of the population gets an uncomfortably low amount of food, and they mull quietly. It is a silent affair, unlike the screaming riots that often break out in District 2.

I check in, and go stand with my age group. The other seventeen-year-olds shoot me disdainful glances. I ignore them, instead looking around for Cennin, who is nineteen, and so is too old for the reaping. I catch his gaze, and nod, wishing that I could be next to him rather than in this sea of strangers. But the rules are very clear. We must stay in our zone.

Another twenty minutes is just spent waiting, and watching others check in. But finally, Mayor Hale stands up and gives the customary speech about the war, and Panem, the shining beacon in darkness, etcetera, etcetera.

At long last, Farrin Eberhard, District 3's Capitol representative adjusts he wavering purple hat and stands. She gives us all a smile I assume is meant to be gracious, but with her deep red lipstick only looks grotesque. I have to suppress a giggle when in her breathlessly high voice, says "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" I mouth the words along with her, and even though I can't see him, I know Cennin will be doing the same.

Farrin plunges her hand deep into the glass bowl, trying to select the one on the bottom, as she always does. But whoever's name is on that slip of paper won't ever need worry.

I've made my decision.

I'm going to win the Hunger Games.

She dramatically unfolds the paper, and says with a beam "Sonia Paynell!"

"I volu-" I cut off as I realize that there was not need for me to volunteer at all. I flush slightly, and quickly walk up to the stage. The odds of my name being called were astronomical. However, the "odds" of a victor's child being chosen at all is low, and it happens all the time. All for the show. Well, if they wanted entertainment, I'd give it to them.

The facade of confidence deepens drastically, and I find myself believing in it. I put on an arrogant smirk as I take my seat next to Farrin, and my mother qinks at me. Everyone is expecting me to shrink away with fear, and I think my ease with the situation disturbs them. It doesn't matter much to me. I feel as though I'm riding a wave of power, and barely pay attention to the male tribute, a boy named Kaiton who tries to copy my display of confidence, but fails so spectacularly, it's pathetic.

Even the half-hearted cheers of the District 3 crowd isn't enough to lower my spirits. I am going to the Capitol.

Then I am ushered into the town hall for goodbyes.

My mother rushes into the room in a flurry of excitement. "It doesn't even matter that you're name was called," She sayd, breathless, "I saw that you tried to volunteer. I'm so proud!. And now I get to be your mentor!"

That never even occurred to me, but I flush with joy at the thought. My family will be coming with me. Minus Everton.

"Okay, okay," I laugh. "Let Cennin have his turn. We'll say goodbye later." Grudgingly, my mother agrees, and leaves the room.

Cennin pokes his head through the door. "Is she gone?" He asks, and his expression is so ludicrous that I can't help but burst into laughter. Cennin always says that it's contagious, and it must be true, because after a few seconds, he cracks up too. It's the good kind of laughter that hurts, and when we finally are calmed down leaves a satisfying silence.

Cennin intakes breath sharply, and I know that he's about to say something difficult. "Sonia...I don't want to be negative, but haven't you considered...the risks associated with being a tribute?"

"Of course. But that isn't how I can afford to think at this point." Cennin nods, accepting my explanation. And I realize that he's the only one who I'll be able to confide in for a very long time.

"Actually, I'm terrified." I murmur. Cenning's gaze meets mine, and he pulls me towards him in a big hug. I don't ned to say anything else. I hide my fear quite well, but he's always been able to draw it out.

We just sit like that for a while, me sitting across his lap, arms around his neck. His warmth is good, and a tingling radiates from where his hands touch my back.

Finally, he shifts, and pulls out a small silver locket. "I was going to give this to you for your birthday. But I think you should have it now."

It isn't shaped like a heart, but a rather an oval, engraved with straight lines mimicking a circuit board. Inside are two tiny pictures, one of me, one of him. I'm looking off into the distance, but his crystal blue eyes bore into me, even in the picture. Cennin insists on putting it around my neck.

"It's your token. Promise me."

"Cross my heart and hope to die." Realizing what I said, I shake my head. "Actually scratch that.

Cennin chuckles, and then gives me a little nudge to stand up. I lay my head on his shoulder, bu he pulls my chin up for a kiss. It's bittersweet. I am still confident that I will come out of this alive, but the sliver of doubt is wreaking havoc on my mind.

Cennin pulls away. "You know Sonia? You'll win. You're too tough to lose." Then he waves, walking out just as one of the peacekeepers comes in to get me. The small piece of anxiety has been assuaged somewhat, and sure about my standings in this year's Hunger Games.


End file.
